


Dinner For Two

by thoughtsthatfester



Series: Missing Moments [2]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-08-13 02:41:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7959160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thoughtsthatfester/pseuds/thoughtsthatfester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gaby and Illya have dinner in the hotel before heading out to 'see the sights' in Rome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dinner For Two

He spots the men in the hotel lobby. It’s just the two of them for now. Perhaps he will spot more later, in the restaurant, but he thinks probably not. The men are seated with a clear view of the tables in the restaurant across the lobby, where he and Gaby will be eating shortly. 

Feeling satisfied with his counter surveillance, he goes to retrieve Gaby. Solo’s room has been bugged and he’s checked in with his handler. There is nothing else to do tonight but maintain their cover and eat dinner. He’s starving. 

He enters and finds Gaby on the couch with her feet up reading one of the western magazines he requested for the room. She’s listening to one of the records but he cannot tell which one. He is not in the habit of listening to western records, but he is happy she appreciated the gesture. He knows he scared her in East Berlin and he needs her to trust him for the sake of the mission.

He turns the record player off and puts on his dinner jacket. He adjusts his watch and smooths his hair before returning to the living room to escort Gaby to dinner. 

“You look nice,” he tells her, admiring the silver dress he picked out just one day earlier. 

“Thank you,” she says looking up over the top of the magazine. “I’m starving. Is it time to go?”

“Yes,” he says and she removes herself from the couch and steps into her heels.

“Do not forget the jacket.”

“Why? I thought we were just eating in the hotel.”

“We are. Perhaps I have surprise later.”

She says nothing, just nods. He’s turning out to be more complicated than she’d initially suspected. She’s yet to decide if he’s completely full of shit and trying to manipulate her or if he’s genuinely decent. 

“And remember, we must maintain cover even when just eating dinner. You are my fiancée.”

She rolls her eyes. “I haven’t forgotten.” 

Illya offers her his arm and she takes it, holding onto him until they’re in the restaurant and he’s pulling out her chair for her. 

She notices the two-man surveillance team as they walk by. Waverly had trained her when he recruited her, but she was always much better at spotting surveillance while she was driving. It was Illya who tipped her off. He’d made a point not to look at the two men as they walked through the lobby. 

Uncle Rudi, or at least his organization, was testing her. She doesn’t want to be the one to blow their cover. She reaches across the tables and takes one of Illya’s cold hands in her own. His hands are so large – it doesn’t fit comfortably in hers. It’s another reminder of just how uncomfortable this whole situation is. 

“Darling,” she forces. “Is this your first time in Italy?”

“No.” Their hands are still clasped together across the table. It will convince no one if he only gives her one-word answers. “It is not. I have been to Italy many times.”

“Good,” she smiles. “You can help me with the menu.” She releases his hand, perhaps a little too dramatically and picks up the menu in front of her. 

“It is Italy. Any food you order will be good.”

“Ah, so you do admit that there are some good things about the west.”

He makes a noise in reply but busies himself with the wine list.

“It is very overwhelming,” Gaby says as she scans the menu. She cannot read Italian but she makes an attempt.

“Capitalism,” he says, “is overwhelming.”

“What was it like, the first time you came to the west?” She asks partly because she is curious and partly because they must have some sort of conversation.

“I knew what to expect,” he begins, his eyes still focused on the wine list, “had training, but it was not easy.”

“Where did they send you first?”

“Cambridge, the university in England. Was not so bad. Very different from Rome.”

They’re interrupted by their waiter. He and Illya converse briefly in Italian. He takes the wine list from Illya and scurries away.

“Did you order for me?” Gaby accuses. 

“No. Alcohol. I tell him we are celebrating your first time to Italy – for us I order champagne.”

“I have never had champagne.”

“Another reason for celebration,” he says, attempting to smile. 

The waiter returns and shows Illya the label. He nods in approval and the waiter pops the cork. He pours Illya a taste and then serves Gaby and then finally fills Illya’s glass before leaving the bottle on ice beside their table.

“It’s delicious,” she tells him.

“I’m glad.”

“You must help me pick what to order.”

“I am going to order linguine con le vongole. For you I think pasta Bolognese because you are very small. It will be cool tonight, you should have a hearty dinner.”

“Alright, Mr. Architect,” she says rolling her eyes, grateful that her back is to the surveillance team. 

Illya orders for her in Italian when the waiter returns. 

She starts a conversation about his ideas for the resort on the black sea and enjoys watching him struggle to answer her questions. 

Finally, their waiter returns with their dinners and Gaby makes fast work on the spaghetti in front of her.

“Do you think the KGB and Stasi eat like this when they are working?” 

“I think the saying is – when in Rome,” he replies, not impressed with her question.

“Well, I think it’s unfair. The same people who would arrest me if they knew I had western records or reading materials enjoy all the luxuries of the west when they get a foreign posting. The communist system at its finest.”

Illya scowls but doesn’t take the bait. “There are some things to be learned from the west,” he concedes.

“Freedom? Democracy?”

“Women’s clothing.”

Gaby laughs. “You can’t be serious.”

“Western clothes are very beautiful. It’s a shame that beautiful women cannot have beautiful clothes.”

She wonders what the surveillance team must think. From a distance they might look like a real couple. Even if they were listening to their conversation, they have said nothing that might give them away. 

“Would you like dessert?” he asks. 

“Another drink,” she smiles. “I can’t eat another bite.”

“For a little person you can drink very much.”

“Yes,” she says, flatly. 

“You will like Moscow,” he tells her. “You can have good Russian vodka whenever you like.”

Gaby ended the meal with a shot of vodka. Illya declined to join her like he had for every drink after his single glass of champagne. Gaby had finished the bottle. Her stomach was full and she felt the bubbles in her head and the vodka in her throat. 

After he pays the check he helps her into her jacket. He leads her out of the hotel into the night and she doesn’t bother to ask where they’re going. She feels warm even in the cool night air – she’s not sure if it’s the alcohol or proximity to him.


End file.
